Downward Spiral
by Sorry It's Too Late
Summary: France wakes up with no memories of what happened the previous night. The Parallel Nations have attacked, leaving two members of the B.T.T. seriously injured and the other dead. Can the Nations pull together fast enough to repel the inevitable attack?
1. Falling

p style="line-height: 24.4799995422363px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; background-color: #fefefe;" The pounding headache was first thing he noticed; the second thing was the taste of liquor on his tongue. He slowly cracked open an eye. The room was blissfully style="line-height: 1.7em;" / Where was he? He pondered, inching himself upwards with his arms. All he could see in the dim light was a tall bed towering over him and a body laying half on and half off of style="line-height: 1.7em;" / Who was it? He pulled himself over towards the bed. It had dark brown hair, or so he thought. Spain? Something flaked off of the hair, and he lifted it up towards his half-open eyes. Dried blood. He rubbed the hair more, trying to divine it's true colour. Once some of the blood was gone, the hair looked reddish white in the scarce light. style="line-height: 1.7em;" / He shivered, even in the warm room. Why had someone killed the ex-Nation? His mind ached, trying to recall the events of the previous night. A groan to his right shifted his attention. He cautiously stood up, biting his lip to hide the exclamations of pain in his body. When he got to the other side of the room, he saw Spain laying in a pool of blood and a severed leg. Spain's severed style="line-height: 1.7em;" / His whole body shuddered, expelling whatever meager content his stomach had left in it onto the floor. Distant footsteps echoed into the room, coming from the hallway. He swore quietly and bent down to grab Spain from the floor. The Spanish Nation stirred and looked up. br style="line-height: 1.7em;" / "France?" He asked quietly. The French Nation didn't respond, instead choosing to look back at his Prussian friend, regretful that he couldn't save him. br style="line-height: 1.7em;" / Ripples of pain flashed through his legs and bare feet. A chunk of glass stabbed through the bottom of his foot. He ignored it. When he got to the doorway, France was a man who looked somewhat like America, with his chunk of hair and everything; but the man was carrying a metal baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. France ran forward as fast as he could, pushing the False America into a style="line-height: 1.7em;" / Every step was complete agony, but the Frenchman kept running. He ran towards a door marked exit and pushed it open. He found himself in a pale, dawn-lit city. They were in an alley, and he could hear pursuers catching up behind them. Spain's hand stuck up, pointing to the end of the alley. br style="line-height: 1.7em;" / "In... Madrid. My h-house, 206... on C-caille Blanco. R-romano might... be t-there." The Spaniard told him. France nodded to himself and ran down the alley, looking for the street. People stared at the odd pair, thinking it was some prank or joke, making comments to their style="line-height: 1.7em;" / Once he found the house, he knocked on the door weakly, then fell down against it, slowly collapsing./p  
>div class="qfooter" style="line-height: 1.7em; clear: both; word-wrap: break-word; text-align: center; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 0.8em !important; padding-top: 5px !important; margin-bottom: 2px !important; margin-top: 6px !important; border-top-style: solid !important; border-top-color: #dddddd !important; background-color: #fefefe; border-width: 1px !important 0px 0px 0px;"<br>p style="line-height: 1.7em; font-size: 1em !important;"New chapters coming soon!br style="line-height: 1.7em; font-size: 1em !important;" /br style="line-height: 1.7em; font-size: 1em !important;" /~Tallis/p  
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	2. Fairy Ring

p style="line-height: 24.4799995422363px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; background-color: #fefefe;" When a thud reverberated through the house, shaking the porcelain figurines on the wooden shelves, Romano jumped up immediately. He'd been expecting Spain backing from some drinking night with his "friends" all night., but that sounded bad. He had probably fallen asleep, drunk, against the door, so Romano opened the door slowly, expecting to see sleeping, drunk Spain. What he actually saw shocked style="line-height: 1.7em;" / The Nation of France, the self-proclaimed Nation of love, fell slowly onto his landing. On his back was Spain, semi-conscious and missing his left leg. They were both soaked in the familiar, unmistakeable, coppery red blood, both dried and fresh. It was probably from the... stump, Romano guessed, and most likely various other wounds. The Italian half-Nation bit back his fear and grabbed Spain's arms, pulling him further into the landing. As soon as he got the Spaniard in he rushed to the bathroom to grab the necessary materials to temporarily treat the style="line-height: 1.7em;" / When he got back, Spain seemed a bit more style="line-height: 1.7em;" / "Romano?" He asked. "What happened?"The Italian Nation bit his lower lip, trying to decide what to tell him. While he though, he went over and dragged France into the style="line-height: 1.7em;" / "I don't really know." He said honestly. "I heard a knock on my door, and... you two fell in." As he spoke, Romano inspected France, trying to keep his hands from shaking as he noted all the injuries. The French Nation had ran all the way here with a two inch long shard of glass stuck through his foot, as well as a red-stained indent on the right side of his chest. There was also a bloody lump his temple, looking like it had been caused by a blunt weapon, probably the same one that had caused the broken style="line-height: 1.7em;" / Romano moved to Spain again, grabbing the rubbing alcohol and a style="line-height: 1.7em;" / "This is going to hurt. Try not to scream." He said said quietly, almost regretfully. He poured the alcohol onto the blood soaked stump, cleansing it. Spain let out an Earth-shattering scream, enough to raise France from blissful unconsciousness. South Italy quickly bandaged up the wound, walking over to France to help style="line-height: 1.7em;" / "Où suis-je? Qui êtes-vous?" France asked, looking around the home, obviously disoriented. br style="line-height: 1.7em;" / "Shit." Romano muttered, pushing the country down before he hurt himself. He placed some bandages around his head, covering the ugly wound. He hoped they would hold until he could get the two injured Nations to a country who'd actually studied as a doctor. As for the glass shard... Romano grabbed France's foot, trying to get a better look at the injury, ignoring the country's weak protests. He quickly yanked the piece of glass out. Blood suddenly coated his forearms, spurting from both sides of the style="line-height: 1.7em;" / The Italian tried to ignore the sticky red substance, opting to grab bandages and halt the flow. The Frenchman struggled weakly, but Romano easily overpowered him, holding him still. He didn't know how to deal with the other, more serious injuries, but England would. The Brit had trained as a true doctor recently, within the last ten style="line-height: 1.7em;" / "Que faites-vous, salaud!?" France exclaimed, trying even harder to dislodge the Italian. Spain flinched at the sudden outburst, but he still scooted closer to the Frenchman. He started to whisper soothing words in French. France looked curiously at Spain, forgetting momentarily about the Italian restraining his leg, and began conversing with the Spaniard, still speaking in French. Romano glanced somewhat irritably at the two, guessing that Spain was informing France about their style="line-height: 1.7em;" / "Spain." He interrupted, commanding the older man's attention. "I'm going to go call England; I can't take care of you and France properly by myself. Keep talking to him and make sure he doesn't run away."br style="line-height: 1.7em;" / The Spanish Nation nodded absently as the Italian left to call up the Brit./p  
>div class="qfooter" style="line-height: 1.7em; clear: both; word-wrap: break-word; text-align: center; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 0.8em !important; padding-top: 5px !important; margin-bottom: 2px !important; margin-top: 6px !important; border-top-style: solid !important; border-top-color: #dddddd !important; background-color: #fefefe; border-width: 1px !important 0px 0px 0px;"<br>p style="line-height: 1.7em; font-size: 1em !important;"New chapters coming soon!br style="line-height: 1.7em; font-size: 1em !important;" /br style="line-height: 1.7em; font-size: 1em !important;" /~Tallis/p  
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